Of Course
by silverwolf04
Summary: Everyone finds out in the end, of course. Slash. John/Sherlock established relationship.


A/N- This ties into my other stories "Respect" and "Too Little, Too Late". You probably need to read those first to get all of this. As always, this goes to all my fantastic reviewers. Enjoy.

* * *

Mycroft was the first to find out, of course. But then, he did have the advantage of well placed bugs scattered liberally around 221B Baker Street.

After the shooting, he had had the number increased with good reason. His little brother was a genius, however, he was hopeless at dealing with emotions, particularly his own. Until recently, this hadn't been a problem. Sherlock did not often allow himself to feel, fully embracing his sociopathic label. Yet neither Sherlock or Mycroft, geniuses' as they were, had expected Dr. John Watson and the impact he would have on the younger Holmes.

He really was a contradiction, Mycroft decided. Dr. Watson was shot in the shoulder and yet develops a psychosomatic limp. He was injured during a battle, nearly killed, and yet he still longed to go back (although Mycroft strongly suspected that John was happy to stay right where he was forever, in bed, with Sherlock, according to Mycroft's surveillance).

By definition, Dr. Watson made his living by caring for people. However, he had trust issues but at the same time fell in love. With a sociopath. And had made the sociopath love him in return.

Mycroft was glad they had both sorted out their feelings. It was tiresome to watch them dance around each other. Although he should probably remove the cameras from the bedrooms now. Annoying, but he didn't want to see his brother having sex.

Mycroft made a note to kidnap Dr. Watson for a chat. He had heard it was expected for older siblings to threaten the partners of their younger brothers and/or sisters. However, Mycroft was actually capable of making Dr. Watson disappear... permanently.

* * *

Of course Mrs. Hudson had known her boys would come to their senses eventually. They were the perfect couple. She had watched enough episodes of EastEnders to know who was going to last and who wasn't.

John grounded Sherlock and the detective brought some spice into the doctor's life. She had been a little worried they weren't in it for the long term. After all, young people had all sorts of arrangements these days. But then there had been that terrible argument.

"I don't care, this is getting bloody ridiculous, actually no, not getting, IS!" John yelled just outside her door. Mrs. Hudson quickly switched off her telly to better listen to the shouting match the boys seemed to be having. She just needed to know if she was going to have to prepare hot chocolate, before persuading them to talk it over.

"You always say you'll change but you never do. I have heard enough apologies to last several life times. I swear one day I'm going to stop listening." John sounded like he was ready to hit something... or someone.

Mrs. Hudson quickly got up out of her chair. She was a firm believer that when a relationship came to blows, it was over. She knew from experience. She was not about to let that happen to her boys. Although Sherlock was being uncharacteristically quiet. She quietly padded to her door and opened it a crack.

"Shut up. I really don't care. I love you, but if you don't get yourself sorted out then," the fire seemed to go out of John's voice and he just sounded tired. Mrs. Hudson poked her head out and found him to be alone in the corridor. Where was Sherlock? Then she noticed the phone.

"Call me when your sober, Harry. Or don't bothering calling at all." John pulled the mobile away from his ear and ended the call. He then turned and rested his head against the wall. Mrs. Hudson got the feeling he was past tears. He must have cried over Harriet Watson for years before realising it wasn't helping her and it certainly wasn't helping himself. Mrs. Hudson desperately wanted to go and pull him into a hug, but Sherlock got there first.

Sherlock seemed to descend the staircase silently, so when he reached out to touch John's shoulder Mrs. Hudson expected him to jump. Instead John seemed to relax under the gentle touch.

"Sorry." Sherlock frowned at the muttered word.

"What for?" John turned to look at the taller man.

"I came down here to avoid waking you. Knew it would turn into a shouting match," John smiled sadly and shrugged, "It always does." Mrs. Hudson winced at the sense of inevitability in those words. Sherlock pulled John to him and the doctor melted into his lover's arms all the tension caused by his sister chased away by the arms of the man he loved. After a moment John pulled his face away from where it was nestled in Sherlock's neck and looked up at the younger man. Sherlock cupped John's head and bent down slightly to brush a kiss across his lips. Before she could witness anything more heated Mrs. Hudson closed the door. She never doubted their relationship after that day. She was just waiting for the day when she could tell Mrs. Turner down the street about _her _married tenants.

* * *

Of course Lestrade had known something more than friendship between Sherlock and Dr. Watson. Okay he had kind of suspected that it was a sexual relationship from the first day. Why else would anyone deliberately and voluntarily spend extended amounts of time around Sherlock bloody Holmes? Not to mention that they also started living together. But then he had been informed that they were certainly NOT sleeping together. The doctor had then proceeded to list all the reasons why he would never have a relationship with the genius, and he wasn't the type to have meaningless sex. Not since University anyway.

The doctor had been very convincing, but Lestrade had always sensed a deeper connection. He was a policeman after all. He was trained to noticed these things. He may not be up to the standard of the consulting twat, but he wasn't made a detective inspector for nothing.

After The Pool, it became more obvious. Sherlock would rarely attend a crime scene without Dr. Watson unless the case was fantastically impossible. Even then he would call the doctor and demand he go straight to the crime scene to meet Sherlock there. And he would. Lestrade had heard the former soldier tell the consulting detective that they needed to get more milk since he's forgotten it in his rush to get to the site. Never mind the episode where Watson tore into Donovan and ripped her character to shreds for insulting Sherlock with only a few sentences and hardly raising his voice. Lestrade had been impressed. If only he could have that effect on some of the cockier rookies.

After the shooting the dynamics changed again. The men seemed to orbit each other. Never too far apart. Sherlock flat out refused to take any cases whilst the doctor was down. An unprecedented event. And when he did come back to work, it was always with Watson. And if they thought they were being subtle with the constant touching then Sherlock really wasn't that much of a genius. But the clincher, the damning evidence was on a case approximately two months after the shooting.

They had the guy. It was definitely him. He'd practically confessed. But they lacked the physical evidence for a conviction. And the psycho knew it. He was currently stuck in a cell, smirking. Lestrade had never, ever hit a suspect except in self-defence during an arrest. But Lestrade couldn't help but wish he could punch the smile right off the smug git's face. Especially when Sherlock told him that he probably kept the hands of the little girls he'd murdered in a safety deposit box.

So they were now looking for the key. Lestrade had the paperwork going for a warrant but having the key would make their job that much simpler. However, finding it was turning out to be easier said than done. They'd been looking for over an hour and the murders flat was in tatters.

"It has to be here somewhere," Donovan growled in frustration, throwing down the golf club she'd been looking down the of. Sherlock whirled around, getting annoyed himself, to snap at the police woman.

"Why do people always say that? No, it doesn't, there's just a high possibility that it might be." Lestrade felt the need to jump in before they really started going at each other's throats, which was less common since John's intervention, but they still didn't like each other.

"Well that possibility is getting slimmer by the second. Any other thoughts... Dr. Watson?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lestrade saw the former soldier looking closely at a large mirror screwed to the wall. John looked over his shoulder at him.

"You can call me John you know," John smiled, before sliding his hands around the mirror to try and get a grip on it. Donovan hissed a warning.

"Seven years bad luck." John smirked.

"I think that's what he's counting on." Lestrade turned to Sherlock to see what he thought, but it seemed the consulting detective couldn't take his eyes off his flatmate. Was that admiration on his face? Or pride? Sherlock didn't ever show either as far as Lestrade knew, so it could be both.

"Okay," he decided, "someone get a screwdriver."

John apparently had other plans. Grabbing the golf club Donovan had discarded, John swung back and smashed the mirror. Lestrade tuned his head to protect his face and eyes from shards of flying glass. Turning back he saw the doctor dart down and pluck a silver key out of the shattered mirror. Blood oozed slightly from John's fingers where he'd cut them on the glass, as he held the key up for Donovan to take. Lestrade glanced at Sherlock again, then did a double-take. Not only was there pride and admiration on his face, his eyes, well, Lestrade could only describe it as lust. The consulting idiot looked like he wanted to pounce on the doctor and devour him like a starving man let near a sirloin steak. _Bloody hell_, thought Lestrade, _they __**are**__ shagging_. He expected the other officers to notice this but they just seemed to walk on by. They really were as dumb as Sherlock said they were.

It wasn't until later that Lestrade saw the men (couple?) alone, behind a police car. He approached unnoticed and saw Sherlock gently wrap John's still bleeding fingers in a handkerchief.

"Thanks," John said quietly. Sherlock kept hold of John's hand whilst diving in for a kiss. Lestrade felt like he should look away. It was an incredibly heated kiss. The men seemed to be trying to inhale each other. And now they were moaning. Lestrade turned to leave, but Sherlock broke of the kiss before he had the chance.

"Save that thought for when we get home." John seemed out of breath. Lestrade could see why.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" Sherlock cocked his head to one side.

"You do know how incredibly amazing and hot you were, working the mirror out, don't you?" John blushed and only Sherlock's hand cupping his cheek prevented him from looking away. Instead he took the offensive by pulling Sherlock by his shirt for another hard but brief kiss.

"Now you know how I feel when I see you work." And they smiled at each other and walked off, thankfully in the opposite direction to where Lestrade was standing, slightly shell shocked. _They're not just shagging, they're in a bloody relationship. _He needed a drink. And yet a smile worked its way onto his face. _About time too._

* * *

Of course Molly knew she never stood a real chance with Sherlock. He was brilliant, amazing, a total genius and didn't judge her for working with dead people. Plus he was drop dead gorgeous. All pale, long limbs and sharp edges. In short, totally out of her league. But that didn't stop her from trying. Lipstick, coffee, corpses. Standard dating procedure. It was pathetic she told herself at night. Even the attempt at making Sherlock jealous hadn't worked (and the less said about Jim, the better). But before she went to bed each evening with her cat, Toby, she could comfort herself with the knowledge that Sherlock may not be interested in her, but he wasn't interested in anyone. Cold comfort in a lonely bed, but Molly would take all she could get. Then Dr. John Watson came into their lives.

From that first day in Bart's she could see the spark of interest in Sherlock's eyes when he looked at Dr. Watson that went dead when he turned to look at her. But that was fine, she had reassured herself, because nothing could keep Sherlock's interest for long. However, Dr. Watson stuck around. Every morgue visit, every case. She never got any time with Sherlock alone any more. And what was worse was Sherlock didn't mind the doctor's constant presence. He always got fed up with her after half an hour, max, but the men were together 24/7. They lived together, worked together, even ate together. Over the months Molly saw that spark of interest turn into a raging inferno, that didn't even dull when the doctor was out of sight. In that respect they were always together. John Watson was like the sun to Sherlock. He blinded the gorgeous genius to anyone else.

The hardest thing was, Molly couldn't hate the doctor. He was nice, kind and thoughtful. He was a good man. Much nicer to her than Sherlock had ever been. He always asked her if she wanted a coffee when he was going to get one for himself and Sherlock. More often than not he would get her a Twix as well. He'd even found out her birthday and gotten her a card and a gift voucher for H&M. When she'd told him it was too much he'd merely replied it was the least they could do. After all she put up with them invading her work space week after week. He'd given her a kiss on the cheek and then went after Sherlock to help examine the latest corpse. Molly had cried herself to sleep that night. Because he'd said "they", as in John and Sherlock. Together. As it should be.

* * *

Of course Moriarty knew Sherlock had a heart. He was planning on surgically removing it and then throwing it on an open fire, whilst Sherlock was still alive. He wasn't quite sure how to do it yet, but he'd been practising. He didn't know that heart was capable of actually loving though. It suddenly made the game so much more interesting. How far would Sherlock go to protect his little boyfriend? What was he willing to sacrifice? Or who?

Or maybe the other way round? After all, John was a player now. Moriarty grudgingly had to admit that. Dr. Watson had proved at The Pool that he was unwilling to be a mere pawn. Moriarty's stomach was proof of that. That move had gotten his attention and even a certain amount of respect for the former soldier. It had also earned the doctor a particularly painful death. Moriarty had promised that Moran could have Johnny. Sebastian was brilliant at keeping his victims alive for weeks if need be. A real artist. But in light of this new information. Well it would be cruel to keep the love-birds apart. Torture chamber for two coming right up. Including acid, electricity and fire. Castration was also an interesting option.

Now where did he leave the remote? Moriarty would have to shoot someone if he missed Britain's Got Talent again.

* * *

A/N- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


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